Peacock in a Coffin
by calysto-antonsen
Summary: A bonding moment between Vincent Valentine and Chaos. In the coffin before AVALANCHE shows up. [Remember that time when you shot that guy's cufflinks off when he told you that your tie was out of line?] A TURKish flashback too.


Sometimes he curses himself for what he has done to others, but mostly he curses what others have done to him. The darkness has become his sanctuary, a never ending, closed in void of black. Both for his eyes and for his thoughts.

Occasionally _they_ will speak with him, testing him. The one that gages him the most is the one he defies/accepts the most.

_Chaos._

Like him, the demon finds power in darkness. Satisfaction in bloodshed coincides with a past of ending lives and a dark blue suit. The demon is also intelligent, and whispers to him in the edges of his thoughts. He likes to pretend that the man and monsters are separate, that they do not control him, but he knows that is only a half truth.

They do not control him, for they _are_ him.

**The sooner you accept us, the better. Then we will no longer be fragmented, and you will be strong.**

Perhaps the dark one is correct. Maybe he really is fragmented. He curses inwardly, but he does not know at whom. And in this void of darkness, this sanctuary of sloped coffin walls and timeless sleep, he replies, and the defiance is gone.

_:Very well.:_

The first thing he notices is pain. Lots of pain, but to what he has endured before it seems nothing, and no sound escapes his lips. He does not resist it, and lets the sensation wash over him. After so long in confinement almost any feeling is a welcome change.

And then the pain is gone, and power replaces it. He sees the grain of dark wood about him and realizes that his eyes are glowing. Glowing _red_. And he is suddenly drifting in a feeling of ability, of strength. The transformations that he had been forced through for the sake of experiments in the past flutter just beneath the surface, to be used at will.

And with his will, for the presences within him, save Chaos, are all gone.

_:You are still here, I see.:_

**We are not so separate as you think. I believe I am your...guide...to mastering your new power over life and death. For if you ever wish to leave your confines and interact with mortals again you will need to be able to rein yourself in.**

**I am an old being, young one, and my experience may prove invaluable.**

_:I see...:_

**Yes, you do. Surprising really.**

And the overwhelming wash of power dimmed, held back by the presence of Chaos, but ready for his calling. So he closes his eyes, and settles back into his nightmare slumber.

----

"Bats!"

A girlish shout. Is there someone here?! In the mansion...

There are muffled noises of footsteps...people walking and trying the locks on the doors.

**It seems someone will free us...**

_:So it does, my friend.:_

**Friend, is it? My, how times have changed.**

_:I concur. Is there anything we should be wary of?...:_

**I am not certain, but I will release some of your power to you, as a precaution.**

The rush of strength and power washed through him, invigorating him, and bringing energy and power to once lethargic limbs.

_:How long do suppose it has been?:_

**Long enough. The thought of your bed-head sends chills down my spine.**

He shudder. He absolutely _hates_ bed head.

**Peacock. Even locked up in a coffin you are still vain.**

_:Shut up...:_

The demon laughs. He always finds that funny in the recesses of the ex-Turk's memories. Vincent Valentine was a clothes horse. Albeit a deadly one.

**Remember that time when you shot that guy's cufflinks off when he told you that your tie was out of line?**

The voices are getting louder. The people were getting closer.

_:Yes. I remember.:_

And he does.

----

That morning he had stood outside the modest corporate building belonging to one of Shinra's many subsidiaries. Vincent had been having a bad day. His iron had over heated and singed his tie. His nice Wutainese silk tie. Fortunately he had another one, which was deftly pressed and expertly tied.

Vincent Valentine was the image of aesthetic efficiency.

Graced with high cheekbones and aristocratic features, he was tall and fine boned, seemingly frail. But he was in a bad mood, and though an open, friendly smile was plastered across his face he still had people moving away from him as he entered the lobby and strolled to the receptionist's desk.

But that just might have been because their instincts screamed at them that this man was a predator and that the safest place in the world was away from him.

For all his pretty face and immaculate clothing he _was_ the most dangerous man in the world. The head of the TURKs.

A few words with the secretary and she eagerly told him where her boss's office was. What woman could resist such a nice looking man?

Nodding his thanks he walked to the elevator and watched her blush as he waved goodbye.

The moment the doors closed he dropped his "happy-mask" and scrutinized himself in the mirrored walls. His tie needed adjusting. He quickly straightened it so that it way in a perfect 90 degrees to his shoulders, and checked that his silencers were in place. He didn't want to disturb the other people in the building with unnecessary noise.

Settling his emotionless face into the "righteous employee" mask of worry and dedication he stepped from the elevator and walked towards the office.

----

"Please miss, I _have_ to talk to him."

She wanted to say yes, this man looked so forlorn and helpless.

"I'm really sorry. But I can't let you in."

"Are you sure?" The pleading note in his voice nearly broke her heart. "It's _important_."

She shook her head sadly. "I'm sorry but, -"

He was muttering now, looking towards the doorway to the office. She caught some of it, most along the lines of "and it's all my fault too", and "why me?"

Were those tears? The poor dear.

"Well, maybe just this once, young man."

She caved.

"Oh _thank_ you!"

They always did.

----

"Hello, Mr. Thompson."

He stopped his typing, and without glancing at the man who spoke reached to buzz his secretary. He was busy. Why did she let someone in.

"We need to talk, Mr. Thompson."

He looked up now, something in that voice sent shivers up his spine, and made him think of cold graveyards and sharp steel.

The man who stood before him was like ice. White face, blue suit, black tie, black hair, cold ice-blue eyes. Tall, looming. Stiff posture, pressed clothing. Black leather gloves. His hand dropped to the desk and a cold hand of fear clenched in his gut.

"You have been very stupid, Mr. Thompson."

The man started to stalk towards him. It could not be walking. It was too sinister to be walking.

"Mr. Shinra does not like stupid people, Mr. Thompson."

And suddenly there was a silenced gun pointing at his forehead, and he found his voice around the ice freezing him from the inside out.

"Who the _hell_ do you think you are?!"

He couldn't look into those ice eyes.

"Hm. You look a bit feverish, Mr. Thompson. Are you not well?"

"I don't know who you are -"

"Those are nice cufflinks, Mr. Thompson. May I have them?"

The cufflinks? What kind of man is cold like ice, sharp like steel, and holds you at gunpoint for _cufflinks_?

"Maybe you should straighten your tie, first."

Now why did he say that? The nervous ramblings of a corporate underling held at gunpoint to a man who looks like he lines up the folds in his suit with a slide-rule.

Pft.

The soft sound of a silenced bullet.

Cnk.

The small sound of cufflinks falling to the floor.

"Thank you, Mr. Thompson."

Pft.

Mr. Thompson would not be answering.

----

**You really were a cold bastard, weren't you Peacock?**

_:Hm.:_

**Do you think we're still wearing that suit?**

_:I doubt it. It feels more like...Oh _God

**What? What is it? Have your clothes-horse instincts settled in? Is your vanity-sense tingling?**

The following response's venom even made the dark presence of Chaos pause.

Leather

**At least you're not naked?**

Chaos was indeed sounding hesitant. A dark feeling of coldness sent shivers down his non-existent demonic frame.

_:Hojo was doomed before, but _leather

Chaos pitied the slimy excuse of a man already.

And then the coffin was opened.


End file.
